Does he know how I much I love him?
As I sit here and work away at the tasks at hand, a little flutter stirs deep in my belly. Small movements stir my insides, like bubbles moving upwards through deep water, finally popping near the surface. Bubble-pop-bubble-pop-bubble.
I reach down and run my hand across my stomach, feeling the sensations, sometimes with wonder and joy, sometimes hoping that the little one will shift to the left some more, or downwards to give me more room to breathe.
Tonight, though, as I feel a hard round lump just above my navel where he is poking his head out as if to say hello, an awareness settles upon me. I stroke my fingertips back and forth over the stretching skin there and realise - this layer of flesh which holds the baby inside my body is really just a very thin shell, a protective covering of the most fragile material. I can feel the movements; sometimes I can tell where the hands and feet are; sometimes everything seems shapeless and yet the small life inside my body continues to move and grow.
I have a new awareness now, that while I still have three months to go from tomorrow until the birth, I can in fact actually touch this child.
I can connect. I can give comfort. I can express the love I feel for this innocent life through the gentle touch of a hand on my swollen belly. The barrier between us is so fine, we can feel each others' touch. There is communication.
When I think of my child growing inside my body, I have questions like: I wonder if he smiles when he hears me laugh? I wonder if he can think yet, whether he knows somehow innately that he is going to be born into a world of love and joy and affection and laughter, surrounded by people who will adore him and treat him well. I wonder if he knows my plans for our future together.
I wonder if he is aware of the love I feel for him.
© copyright, 1998, Verity Warn